


Nostalgia

by FievreAlgide



Category: French Revolution RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 05:17:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21314803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FievreAlgide/pseuds/FievreAlgide
Summary: Maxime tries to be as spontaneous as his friend, with mixed results. (Old fic repost.)
Relationships: Maximilien Robespierre/Louis Antoine de Saint-Just
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11
Collections: Fleeting and Frivolous Mundane Moments in the Life of Two Otherwise Very Serious Revolutionaries





	Nostalgia

**Author's Note:**

> First posted on LiveJournal on April 18 2009.

As the younger man walked in front of him, Maximilien gripped his arm, thus stopping him. He pulled him back towards him.

"Robespierre," the younger man sighed, wishing to put an end to his friend's discussions. "Barère is waiting for me at the Committee."

"Is Barère more important than me?"

"Maximilien!" Saint-Just's eyes widened. He was about to ask him what he could possibly mean by this strange and worrying statement when Robespierre pushed him towards the wall. "Oh," the younger man thus said, understanding. "What are you doing?"

"I'm being spontaneous."

"You have the oddest of all timings." 

Saint-Just contemplated his portfolio on the floor. A few papers were coming out of it, disorderly. Usually, Robespierre would already have been distracted by it, and would have sought to take it back, and to place the papers neatly. The usual. Saint-Just waited, waiting for Robespierre to notice – who, bizarrely, did not.

"My portfolio is on the floor," Saint-Just consequently pointed out.

"Ah," Robespierre muttered as he turned his head back to observe the fact. He may have frowned and bitten his lower lip, Saint-Just noted, but he lifted back his eyes towards his friend, asking: "And?"

"I will be late," Saint-Just reasonably and seriously exposed, his face being moulded in the usual marble.

"Didn't I already tell you something like this?"

Saint-Just frowned. "No? Possibly? I don't remember."

"Unfortunate," Robespierre smiled. Well, that looked like a boyish type of smile, as strange as Saint-Just thought it was. "For I remember your answer."

He didn't wait for Saint-Just to ask what it was, and he suddenly applied a deep kiss against the side of the younger man’s right cheek, moving down to line his jaw with nibbling lips. Saint-Just's baffled "Oh!" changed into a quieter, different sound when Maximilien gripped the sides of his torso, bringing him closer. 

"Here?" Saint-Just still asked, wondering why Robespierre was deciding to be spontaneous at the Duplays', in the middle of the afternoon.

"You used to take me here, back when we had time for this."

"Yes," Saint-Just conceded, also conceding that it had been a little while. "But you were never particularly noisy or loud."

"Do you plan to be?"

"I...? What!"

Yet, Saint-Just's expression of disbelief (and of rightful offence) vanished when Maximilien's left hand suddenly slid down to clasp his buttocks. Saint-Just let out a slight gasp as Maximilien pushed on them to bring their bodies – and their intimate parts – together. It seemed desperately inviting when Maximilien started, with his right hand, to play with the younger man's cravat, tugging at the knot, so that he could find a small access to the soft skin of the chin and of the throat hiding under it.

Alas, no.

He pressed on Robespierre's shoulders and pushed him away. It was surprisingly easier than he had ever imagined. He walked to his portfolio and, placing the papers back into it, he threw a glance behind to his friend. He now rested against the wall, with a defeated look, but this stern melancholy was more _familiar_ than this small scene he had set.

"For a moment, I thought a spy who remarkably looked like you and knew of the small secrets of our friendship had taken your place." Saint-Just grinned, slightly. "Are you starting a new fever?"

"I was _trying_ to be _spontaneous_."

"I maintain," Saint-Just very seriously said, though it appeared more to be a mimicked seriousness. "You definitely have the _oddest_ of all timings."

"It always works when you do it," Robespierre protested.

"That's because I'm the one doing it."

"Well, this sounded quite arrogant." Robespierre absently noted. His lips curved into a smile, and he sighed. "It had been a while."

"Hasn't it?" Saint-Just answered with the same sort of look, nostalgic of earlier times, when they knew each other a little less, but when they had more time to learn everything. He walked closer and his smile grew into a grin. Bending towards Robespierre's ear, he whispered: "I'll let you pretend you spontaneously wish to keep me hostage for the cause of the Republic later, this evening." Saint-Just drew back to watch his friend's reaction. "If it's still your wish."

"Yes, though not exactly the way you say it."

"The way you want it then," Saint-Just replied, shaking his head. "But after midnight... And at _my_ apartment."


End file.
